


Thorki drabble thing

by salakavala



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother Feels, Canon Universe, Closure, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Gen, Kid Loki and Kid Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pine-y fluff, Power Play, Pre-Thor (2011), Pre-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Questionable foreplay, Romance, Sibling Incest, Thorki drabble thing, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-16 17:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16499597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salakavala/pseuds/salakavala
Summary: A collection of thorki minifics of varying length, each based on one word given to me by readers, each a separate story of its own.1. Milk: Brother feels, pre- and during Thor 1.2. Postcard: Modern AU, brother feels.3. Moustache: Very young Thor and Loki, adventuring, canon universe.4. Mosquito: Pre-Thor 1, brothers, mutual pining.5. Hope: A missing scene in Thor the Dark World, angst.6. Icon: Modern AU, not related, pine-y fluff.7. Submission: Ancient Rome gladiator AU, dom/sub, power play, references to violence, dub!con.8. Pegasus: Pre-Thor: Ragnarok, reminiscing, finding closure.





	1. Milk

**Author's Note:**

> I once did a tumblr game for myself in my first fandom, asking people to drop single words in my ask box, and I would write a ficlet based on what comes to my mind from that word. This is a thorki version of that.
> 
> Of the following chapters, a few may be read as different parts of the same timeline. Those are the chapters 3, 4, 1, 5, and 8, in this order if you want to have it chronological. However, they weren't written as parts of the same universe (I only realised it after posting the last chapter), so they can be just as well read separately! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brother feels, pre- and during Thor 1.

 

They had been seven, then, Thor and him, when their mother had taken them to a farm outside the city. She had wanted to show them how different their life was from that of the majority of Asgardians, how much hard work was behind even one royal breakfast they enjoyed every morning.

They hadn’t quite taken it in the spirit she had intended, at first – for them, it had been a day out of the palace, an exciting trip to replace the lessons in a stale study room. They had got to pick apples straight from the trees (Thor had lifted Loki up so that Loki could reach the juicy fruits weighing heavy on the lowest branches), heave water from a deep well until their arms had been trembling and their backs had been soaked with sweat, and they had got to milk cows with their own hands, under Frigga’s supervision.

Thor had gone first, squeezing and pulling on the udders, face red with frustrated concentration when his efforts yielded no milk. All the while Loki had kept hanging at his back, giggling and heckling and generally being a nuisance while nervously awaiting his own turn.

But then Thor had got out the first spurt of milk, crying out with joy, and renewed his efforts. And little by little, his little cup had been filled. Thor had beamed with pure joy when he had proudly presented the full cup to their mother.

“Doesn’t it taste better,” she had asked him, full of smiles, “when you’ve worked for it with your own hands?”

Loki didn’t know what had got into him then. Maybe it had been fear of failure, of being unable to get the same proud smile from their mother as Thor had, or maybe it had been simply a spike of mischief. Maybe he had just wanted to employ the phrase about crying over spilt milk that he had only recently learnt. Either way, without much consideration, Loki had hollerred like a pirate and knocked the cup out of Thor’s palms, as if in play.

The changes on Thor’s face had been immediate and open, as always – he had gone from happiness to alarm to anger all in a heartbeat, just like Loki had known he would. He had also known what would follow: angry yelling and unforgiving fists, and at least one or two bruises to keep Loki from troublemaking for a few days.

Instead, Thor had turned to where his cup had fallen and the milk had been absorbed into the ground, and in place of anger, his face had twisted with bottomless, excruciating sadness.

“Loki!” Frigga had called sternly, but Loki had barely heard her – all of him had been fixed on Thor, on the tears flowing freely down his cheeks, on the sorrowful way he had hung his head.

Loki hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t known what he had wanted, but it hadn’t been _that_.

  

Loki didn’t know why the memory of it came to him now, of all times. Maybe it was Thor’s expression, the same twist of unbearable loss that Loki had witnessed on his face on that day in a different lifetime. Maybe it was the knowledge that it was Loki who had put it there. Maybe it was that once again, Thor would end up crying over spilt milk.

 _Don’t,_ Loki wanted to tell him. _It’s not worth it._

He didn’t say it, though. He simply let go.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word given by wisterings! <3


	2. Postcard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, brother feels.

 

Thor’s heart thumps once against his ribcage when he lifts the lid of his mailbox and sees a postcard. It rests there at the bottom, patiently waiting to be found, and though it has the picture-side up, Thor knows from who it is.

He doesn’t look at it any closer when he picks it up, fingers suddenly trembling with nervous energy. Doesn’t even take a peek to confirm the sender as he rushes to his front door, balancing the bag of groceries in one hand and the keys and the postcard in the other. This isn’t something he can do in a hurry, or out here on his porch. No, for these postcards Thor needs to empty his hands and his entire evening. These postcards need time and peace and quiet, closed curtains and a single reading-lamp beside the sofa. No eyes to pry. No pressing chores to linger at the edge of his consciousness.

So when Thor gets home, he drops his keys and the postcard on the little round table in his hallway, and goes to unload the groceries. He will need to eat something, too, and fuck, he still has the unwashed dishes from two days ago in his sink–

Shit, shit, _shit_ , the can of yoghurt slips from his fingers made clumsy with haste. The can breaks, and thick white substance splashes all over his kitchen floor and the lower shelves. Fuck, should he just– but no, he will never return to clean it once he has the postcard back in his hands. Everything he wants to get done today, he needs to do before reading it – he well knows it will render him useless for the rest of the evening.

He keeps the rag with which he cleans the floors of his apartment in his bathroom. He fetches is successfully, but on his way back to the kitchen he passes the collection of his postcards on the wall. One step, two steps – and he stops, unable to pass the wall without sparing it a look.

He has put the cards up in the order they have arrived. The first one, from Brisbane, he got two years ago.

That was three years after the breach within their family, just after their mother had died. Without her pacifying presence, Loki and Odin had finally clashed, and- and Thor had clashed with his little brother too. He can’t even properly remember why. Only that they had crashed and burned, both blinded with grief, leaving only a trail of blood and smoking ruins in their wake. Thor had closed off to the world; Loki had left. He hadn’t appeared at the funeral.

During the three years that followed Thor had time to grieve, and think, and regret, but none of that could change the past, so he decided to move forward instead. He moved away from Oslo, to Trondheim; he’s always liked it better there. He still keeps loosely in touch with his father, more so with his friends. Never with Loki, not without an address, a phone number, a middleman. Only silence. Silence and longing.

Until the first postcard arrived.

_Loki._

It doesn’t say that, ‘Loki’. It only has Thor’s name and address, not a single word more, not even a signature. But in the neat handwriting Thor could easily read what was left unsaid, could have recognised it even with his eyes closed and his finger tracing the imprints on the paper: Loki.

The second card arrived two months later, from Bangkok. Then the third one, and the fourth, until Thor grew to expect them. They were always the same, Thor’s address and Loki’s handwriting, and after a while, it turned very hard not to read into a pattern.

At first Thor told himself that he was out of his mind, delusional, desperate. But as the cards kept coming, once every two or three months, he could not ignore his hopeful theory.

Brisbane. Bangkok. Calcutta. Kazan.

And then they began arriving with less time between them: Bucharest. Belgrade. Prague. Stuttgart.

The last one, from one month ago, arrived from Copenhagen.

 _Fuck it._ Thor drops the rag on the floor and snatches the newest postcard into his hands.

He doesn’t even make it to the living-room before he breaks and looks down at the glossy picture on the card.

Akershus Fortress. Oslo.

Oslo, Oslo, Oslo. Loki is in Oslo. Thor’s baby brother is in Oslo, so close, almost in his reach – after five years, he is almost, _almost_ –

Thor presses the card to his chest, feels how it crushes his lungs, his heart. It hurts to breath, it hurts to be so frustratingly far now that he is so close, _still_ unable to contact Loki back even as his brother is practically home.

Thor flips the card over with shaking fingers – maybe there’s a message, now that Loki is back in Norway, maybe even an address–

But there is no message. No address.

No _Thor’s_ address, either.

Only one word, written in Loki’s hand in the middle of the postcard: _Thor_. And below it, so small that Thor almost misses it, a slightly smudged heart with a question mark drawn inside.

Thor doesn’t know how he makes it to his front door through the blood rush in his head and the blur in his eyes without tripping over himself and breaking his neck, but somehow he manages, and he throws his door open and his arms around his waiting little brother.

“ _Loki._ ”

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word given by impalaforthree! <3


	3. Moustache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very young Thor and Loki, adventuring, canon universe.

 

As usual, it was Loki who came up with the idea.

He had read about it in one of his endless books, an adventure tale of some sort. Thor personally thought that if you had time to read about about adventures from a book, you might as well go and experience them yourself, but Loki had his quirks and could spend hours upon hours with his nose buried in dusty pages. Still, Thor couldn't deny that sometimes Loki's best ideas were inspired by the tales he's read. Like now.

Darkness was a silent cloak around them, a shield against spying eyes of bloodthirsty beasts as they ventured forth in the thick growth of the jungles of Vanaheim. Neither the moon nor the stars could penetrate the rich foliage above their heads – tall trees blocked any light the night might have otherwise provided. They could barely see ten steps ahead as they advanced towards their target, and while the darkness did protect them from unwanted gazes, it couldn't hide them from other beastly senses: the nightly terrors of the wilderness had such a sharp sense of smell that they could probably spot the two boys from the other side of the forest. Loki had learnt this from his book.

“They can even smell your fear,” he whispered right into Thor's ear, following tightly at his heels.

“I'm not afraid,” Thor whispered back, although he was a little; the monster they were determined to face was the most formidable in all the Nine Realms. They had to proceed with caution, or risk their hides.

Shadows swam and shifted around them as they made their way towards their destination, the lair of the beast. They needn't slay it – they only needed to retrieve a single hair from its face as a proof of their courage and of fulfilling the demanding feat.

“We're almost there,” Thor whispered to Loki, who only nodded and tightened his grip on Thor's tunic. Thor was glad that he did – he would never admit it, but Loki's presence helped slightly calm his thudding heart. They both knew it wasn't a silly game. Tonight, they were playing with fire.

“Look!” Loki whispered with urgency. “There's the entrance to its lair!”

He was right – they had reached the enormous cave of the monster. Thor gulped. It was one thing to read of heroic deeds, and quite another to perform them – and the most dangerous part was yet ahead. But they were both princes of Asgard, and they would do this.

The entrance was obstructed by huge rocks effectively blocking the way into the depths of the cave. “I will break through it with Mjölnir,” Thor told Loki quietly, clutching the legendary weapon of warriors in his hand.

“No,” whispered Loki. “That will wake the beast. Leave it to me, I will clear the way with my magic, it'll be so quiet that no one will notice a thing.”

As much as Thor would have liked to object, he had to admit Loki was right. They could not afford to rouse the monster, not now.

They crept to the entrance, and, true to his word, Loki did swift work clearing it without as much as a creak.

They slipped in.

It was even darker inside than it had been outside in the jungle – they could barely discern their own toes. Thor felt about with his hand until it found Loki's shoulder, and clutched it tightly – to give courage to his little brother, of course. “We are here,” he whispered, and they shared a nervous, excited look in the dark. It was time.

They could hear the monster's heavy breathing rumble from the depths of its lair. Loki had to clamp a hand over his mouth as a terrified giggle escaped him, when a particularly loud snort shook the walls of the cave.

“Shhh!” Thor shushed him urgently, but had to fight giggling himself. It wasn't even funny – he was terrified to the marrow of his bones.

Together, squeezing each other's hands tightly, they crept deeper into the cave.

They found the monster in its nest – and it wasn't alone.

Loki gasped. “Look! It has a prisoner!”

“No, it's its mate,” Thor whispered back. “We mustn't wake either. Come on.”

Closer still, closer, until the sleeping beast was within the reach of Thor's arm.

They exchanged a look and gulped. The moment had come.

“Do it,” Loki whispered barely audibly, eyes wide in the dark.

Thor had expected it, but still he couldn't help feeling a little queasy. “Why me? It was your idea, you do it!”

“I cleared the way through the rocks to get in here. We must both have equal glory, brother. If I do this, too, then what's left for you?”

Thor knew full well what Loki was doing, but even so, Loki was right. Besides, Thor was the older brother here. Who, if not he, should step forward and prove his worthiness? It was his responsibility, both as the wielder of Mjölnir and the greatest warrior in the Nine Realms, and the protector of his little brother.

“All right.”

Loki grasped his hand, and he squeezed it back. Then, trying to even his breathing and calm his hammering heart, slowly, so slowly, Thor reached for the hairs covering the monster's face. He pinched one between his trembling fingertips.

“Have you got it?” Loki asked, breathless.

“I've got it.” Thor could feel the beast's hot and heavy breath on his fingers. “Prepare to run.”

“I'm ready,” Loki whispered, and, with one last determined breath, Thor yanked.

The monster awoke.

 

 

The talk they got from Odin in the morning was harrowing, but it was somewhat undermined by their mother's evident struggles to maintain a straight face. Then Loki stepped forward and pointed out that Thor and he had been able to sneak past all their father's guards and slip to their parents' bedside without being caught, even as close as to pinch a hair from Odin's moustache. That gave Odin pause, and in the end they got off easier than they might have expected.  
  
“You always get us in trouble,” Thor grumbled all the same when they left the great hall afterwards.

Loki smirked. “I also got us out of it. Besides -” And his eyes glimmered with glee and excitement, “- now we've finally accomplished all the Labours of the Hero, and have proof of it!”

Yes, Loki's ideas often got them in trouble. But, watching his little brother's glowing face and flushed cheeks, Thor thought he didn't mind that at all.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word given by Viridis! <3


	4. Mosquito

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Thor 1, brothers, mutual pining.

 

While Loki enjoyed the court of Vanaheim well enough, he couldn’t say the same about the rest of the Realm.

Much if not most of it had to do with the unpleasant climate. Even in Asgard summers could get unbearably hot for Loki, and Vanaheim was a step worse: not only was it warmer, it was also far more humid. The royal palace was pleasant enough, as were the exquisite famed Vanir baths, but one step out of the civilised part of the capital was enough to make Loki wish he had the power to freeze the entire Realm with a wave of his hand. Alas, the nature of his magic was different, so all he could do was dress light and grit his teeth as his clothing clung to his clammy skin.

Loki's sole consolation was that Thor, too, seemed to be suffering; his usually golden skin was sickly pale, and tiny rivulets of sweat were tracing down the curves of his bare arms. Good. Let the fool for once feel the consequences of his thoughtless boasts on his own hide.

“Enjoying yourself, brother?” Loki quipped acridly, unable to resist when Thor once again smacked one of his bare arms. Unlike Loki, who had covered his skin from head to toe as was his wont, Thor had chosen to wear a sleeveless tunic – apparently, when he had bragged in front of the entire Vanir court of retrieving a rare marsh flower for Freya, he hadn't taken into account the local bug life. His arms were already sprinkled with tiny red bite marks.

Thor only growled something unintelligible in response. My my, looked like even the golden Crown Prince experienced discomfort in the heat when suffering from a well-earned hangover.

Another smack.

Loki allowed a small, malicious smile. Even the mosquitoes seemed to favour Thor and his meaty arms, but for once Loki didn't mind the lack of attention on himself. He had not overindulged in the festivities of the previous night, and with the foresight to dress against nasty swamp insects, he was about as comfortable as it was possible in such an awful place and weather. It wasn't much, but as long as it was one up over Thor, he would be satisfied.

He tugged at his long sleeve a little, ostensibly straightening it, but really only reminding Thor of his own stupidity. Not calling Loki a prude now, was he?

“Shut up,” Thor grumbled.

Loki offered an unkind smile. “Oh dear. Did I say that out loud?”

Thor gritted his teeth, evidently struggling to reign in his temper. “You didn't have to.”

His tone angered Loki. Thor had got them into the whole predicament to begin with, and now he had the gall to bark at Loki for it? “Good,” he hissed, giving way to his long-suppressed irritation, “Maybe next time then you'll refrain from speaking when it isn't needed, as well, or at least think to compare your next woman to a more common plant.”

“Don't be jealous,” Thor snapped, pushing a branch out of his face and nearly pulling the tree out with its roots in the process.

Loki's jaw clicked shut.

They didn't speak to each other for the rest of the day, even as they returned to the palace with the precious flower for Freya.

 

 

 

It was already late when somebody knocked on the door of Loki's guest chambers, and Thor slipped in.

Loki had only just put away his book and started on extinguishing the little oil lamps scattered about the room. He had not been expecting a visitor.

“Thor,” he said, both surprised and not; Thor's temper burned quick, and he rarely wanted to end the day without making peace with Loki whenever some unresolved quarrel lay between them.

That was if he could help it – Loki was not often obliging. He preferred to stew in his resentment and passive-aggressively take it out on Thor in the course of the next few days.

But tonight he wasn't feeling it. Maybe it was the draining weather, or the late hour, but he let Thor quietly close the door after himself and step further into the room.

Loki wasn't dressed for visitors, not even for his brother, and he reflexively pulled his light night robe more securely around himself. Thor himself was wearing a dark cloak, draped over a simple tunic. In the dim lighting of the room he looked like a secret lover.

Loki crossed his arms, waiting. Thor had breached the unspoken line today – it was for him to set the tone of this visit. Loki would not be the one to put himself on the line first.

Thor looked ill at ease, slowly venturing further in, not quite meeting Loki's eye.

Loki waited.

Finally Thor spoke. “Do you still have any of that salve we were given upon our arrival? To calm the mosquito bites. I've used all of mine.”

So, no bilgesnipe in the room it was. Still, Loki acknowledged the gesture for peace, and with a slightly exaggerated sigh, waved towards his bed. “Sit down then.”

It was better this way, anyway. He knew that. He _did_.

Thor obediently sat on the edge of Loki's bed and waited as Loki fetched the jar he had been given by Freya's healers. Loki hadn’t needed it, but Thor's arms did look awful; angry red dots adorned his skin all the way from the backs of his palms to his neck. He must have lost a gallon of blood on that swamp.

Wordlessly, Loki settled beside Thor and began applying the salve to his skin. He started at the top of Thor’s shoulder and moved down from there in slow, circular motions, carefully rubbing the ointment in and every so often dipping his fingertips in the jar for more.

He finished the right arm in silence, and re-settled to treat the left.

Thor let him work without a sound. He could have easily done it himself, they both knew that – the bites weren't anywhere unreachable. But they both also knew that this was more than just that. It was an apology, and its acceptance.

Loki kept his eyes on Thor's arm; Thor kept his eyes on Loki. Neither of them spoke.

They had been dancing around this for months. Years, even. Dancing around each other, around the barely noticeable unsteadiness of Loki's fingertips, around the thrumming under Thor's skin upon Loki's touch. Like the shadows that were now chasing each other on Thor's face, they, too, kept chasing and evading, reaching out just to be swallowed by darkness. An unspoken truth lay between them, no less there for their silence.

No _more_ there, either; their truth would never become reality.

Loki finished rubbing the salve into the back of Thor's large palm. _Done_ , he thought, but though his fingers stilled, they did not withdraw. He felt Thor's gaze upon himself, and kept his own eyes lowered – he could not face his brother now, not without revealing to Thor the extent of his weakness.

“Brother,” Thor said, a quiet murmur from the shadows. Loki swallowed, refused the question in his tone.

Started slowly withdrawing his hand.

Thor didn’t let him – he turned it around and entwined their fingers together, cradling Loki's hand between the two of his own. “I'm sorry for dragging you along into my own foolish quest.”

Loki allowed a hollow smile. “No matter. You paid for it.”

Thor lifted one of his hands to Loki's chin, forcing him to finally look up. “And I'm sorry for what I said in the jungle,” he added quietly.

His eyes seemed so dark in the shadows, full of regret. Too heavy to bear, but the fingers under Loki's chin were unyielding.

Loki's throat tightened. All of a sudden, he wanted to cry.

“Thor,” he choked out, a plea in his voice.

But Thor did not let him go. Instead he clasped Loki's hand tighter, curled his palm around Loki's neck. His thumb brushed the side of Loki's cheek.

“I know,” he said, and oh, how pained was his gaze. “I know.”

Loki closed his eyes and leant into his touch – allowed himself the sensation of Thor's thumb caressing the side of his face, tracing the line of his jaw. His own hand rose to cover Thor's on its own accord.

It was impossible, they both knew it.

“You should go,” he forced himself to say, fingers curling around Thor’s hand tighter.

Thor's thumb grazed his lower lip, a phantom touch – there, and gone again. His palm burned hot against the side of Loki’s neck. “I know.”

Shadows kept dancing on his face, until even the last flame flared and flickered from existence.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word by Anon. :)


	5. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene in Thor the Dark World, angst.

 

The artificial lights of the dungeons dim, marking the end of yet another day. Yet another dull, pointless day, only one among the 1 460 000 or so similar ones yet awaiting. For seven months now has he been imprisoned, seven wasted months, filled with endless weeks and empty hours.

Seven months, and Thor hasn’t come to see him once.

And Loki doesn’t want him to. Not after he clamped a pair of manacles around Loki’s wrists and tossed him to the mercy of Odin’s _justice_. No, Loki wouldn’t grant Thor the satisfaction of witnessing his disgrace, how low he has been brought. The prince of Asgard now made her prisoner, stripped of his magic and his self-determination, trapped in a transparent cube without as much as a pretence of privacy from either the lowly criminals or the watchful eyes of the guards. Left to languish in the wait of a slow, slow death.

Besides, even if Thor did make an appearance down here, it likely wouldn’t be _for_ Loki. It would be just to rub his righteous disappointment into Loki’s face – to remind Loki of what he never was and never will be, what he never truly had and certainly never will. Thor would probably look at the travesty of life that is now Loki’s and call it yet another one of his _imagined slights_.

Better that Thor leaves Loki alone and forgets him entirely. As he evidently already has – why else hasn’t he come? There is truth to old sayings, after all: out of sight – out of mind. By the time Thor finally ascends to the throne of Asgard, he will hardly remember he ever even had a brother. Or perhaps, at most, he might infrequently recollect a boy from their youth, a boy he once used to consider his family, before the truth came out and revealed the boy a monster, a criminal, a madman.

It must be so already – in all likelihood Loki no longer exists to Thor at all. Thor would have come otherwise. Surely he would have come.

 

 

He is right – when Thor eventually comes, he doesn’t come for Loki. He comes for Jane Foster.

Loki was only right to not hope.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word from thorkilaufeyson! :)


	6. Icon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, not related, pine-y fluff (thanks Viridis for the expression!).

 

 

Most of Thor's days were pretty much the same. Celebrities came and went, and Thor remained. He was nothing but a simple roadie working for the studio – he carried what was needed to be carried, he went where he was pointed to, he helped when so instructed. In other words, he did his job and stayed out of the way when he wasn't needed, waiting until something had to be moved again. He spent sometimes hours in the same room with famous Names, but they didn't pay him attention and he didn't care about them. They were doing their job; Thor did his.

Most days. Until the studio signed the contract with Loki Laufeyson.

Thor couldn't say Loki was different from others, exactly – he was an international fashion icon, as far as Thor understood, and had a pretty face and a stunning body. Like most who worked in the industry. And yet, when he would pose for the cameras and let directors turn him this way and that for a specific look they wanted – _no, not quite so pouty, raise your chin a little… not that high, lower –_ something made Thor's eyes linger. And linger they did, twice a week when Loki came to the studio.

It became something of a habit. Thor generally didn't interact with the Names, but he made a point to always smile and nod to Loki when he entered the room with the requested equipment – occasionally even say hello if Loki was within a hearing distance.

Loki had looked startled the first time Thor did it, and hadn't responded, but after that he began returning Thor's smiles and quiet greetings. It was but a little moment between the many hours of the day, but seeing Loki's face light up a little whenever Thor entered the room made something pleasant blossom in Thor's belly. He would have thought that he was at an age well past the butterflies, but what do you know, he was wrong.

He never talked with Loki. They both had to do their job, and either Thor would be called elsewhere before Loki finished, or Loki would be whisked away while Thor was still taking down the heavy stuff. Still, it was nice. Thor wasn't of course delusional enough to expect that little moment to mean anything to Loki, but it was nice. And who knew? He might even give it a try and ask Loki out for a cup of tea one of these days.

Why not? Stranger things had happened.

 

 

 

When Loki returned home, he dropped the keys on the floor, kicked his shoes off and shed his jacket as he strode towards his bedroom. Once in, he let himself fall into the bed face-first, crawled further in and pulled his soft fleece blanket around him. It had been that sort of day.

He buried his face into the pillows, but couldn't relax. Camera flashes kept blinding him even behind his closed eyelids, and beyond the silence of his own home he could still hear the endless demands and directions to present his body this and that way, never perfect.

Loki breathed deep and let the buzz in his head do its worst. It would calm, eventually, he only needed to get into the right mind space. Behind shut eyes Loki's vision morphed into a tunnel, tuning out the noise and the faceless crowd and the cameras. It closed him into a safe bubble that pushed through the masses, turning, searching, until it found what it was looking for.

Thor was leaning against the wall further away, behind the backs of the photo shoot crew, his bulging arms crossed over his chest. In this half dream, half memory he seemed to sense Loki's gaze on him, and raised his own startlingly blue eyes to meet it. He gave that small, gentle smile of his, the smile that always told Loki Thor had seen him, seen _him_. Thor's lips moved, and Loki felt the soft rumble of his voice within his ribcage: _Hello_.

No one at the studio said hello to Loki. They said _finally!_ and _today's shoot is important, you have to exceed yourself_ and _no, that won't go with my idea at all, let him try this one_ , and they sucked him into their whirlwind of the day and forgot that he was there, inside the body they thought they owned.

Loki was the leading fashion icon of the year. There were dozens of pairs of eyes upon him at all times at the studio, and when the photos went out into public, dozens turned into millions. There was not a moment when Loki was not looked at – and yet, it was only when Thor entered the room and let his eyes meet Loki's that Loki felt _seen_.

He lived for those brief moments. It was the promise of Thor's smile that made Loki get up in the morning and drag himself through the day. Those fleeting points of contact warmed Loki enough to sustain him until the next time he went to the studio and caught a glimpse of the sky.

Loki might have been the centre of the fashion world, but _his_ centre was Thor.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word by ktspree13!


	7. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ancient Rome gladiator AU, dom/sub, power play, references to violence, dub!con.

 

 

Loki loves power. He loves having it, and he loves dangling it over others. He loves holding an absolute control over himself, over a situation, over a person.

Especially over a person.

The cell is damp and smells heavily of mould. It's not yet midday, but none of the sunlight makes it down to the holding cells of the gladiators under the arena – the only source of light is one torch on the wall beside the entrance. Loki quite likes it; in the dim lighting the torchlight glimmers in a most enticingly dangerous way in his gladiator's eyes.

Those eyes follow Loki intently as he slowly circles their owner.

His gladiator, a northern giant of a man, stands in the middle of the cell, arms bound above his head by a chain hanging from the ceiling. His body is bare from the belt up; leather breeches cover his lower half. In this pose Loki can best admire his form: his wide back, his thick thighs, those strong, strong arms.

Gods, but Loki loves the shape of him. The glorious brutality underneath that sweaty skin, the withheld power – and it's all _Loki's_.

The drag of the riding crop along his gladiator's back is almost thoughtful; Loki idly navigates with it invisible paths between the numerous, pale scars. He isn't the one who put them there – Thor has been a warrior and a gladiator long before he became Loki's. But the red stripes among the white, the faint pink and bright scarlet lines – those are Loki's.

He stops behind Thor's back, taps his lips with a finger. “Do you hear that, Thor? The crowds.”

His gladiator doesn't answer. He knows the rules.

Loki leans in and presses his lips against Thor's ear. “They have all come for _you_ ,” he murmurs, and steps back.

The sharp snap of the crop on naked skin and the resulting grunt tickle Loki's ears. He delivers three more strikes in quick succession, each of them precise and to an unmarked spot. Thor growls quietly deep in his throat as they land, but doesn't even budge, doesn't struggle. He has learnt well. Moreover: he enjoys the game as much as Loki does.

Or so Loki likes to think. It doesn't really make a difference, either way.

He runs his fingers along the fresh red welts on Thor's skin in a tender caress, feels the barely suppressed vibration of violence in the muscles.

Thor is just waiting to be unleashed.

Good. Let him nurture it. Let him set it loose on the arena.

It's what caught Loki's interest in this northern brute in the first place – well, aside the magnificent body: Thor's raw battlerage that devoured anything and everything in its path. Loki only took one look at him, and _wanted._ Oh, Thor cost a sweet amount of gold to him, but it is well worth it, seeing his beautiful, ferocious fighter be the last thing standing in a pile of bodies.

It's even better when Loki prepares him before his fights. Few pleasures can surpass the thrill of watching Thor sow destruction on the arena and knowing that _Loki_ did that.

He presses himself tightly against his gladiator's back, uncaring of the stains it will leave on his white attire. He will cover them when he goes out – that way he will get to enjoy Thor's musky scent on himself during the fights without ruining his appearance. The thought alone is enough to coax his arousal into full hardness, and he makes sure Thor feels it.

The crowd roars somewhere above them – a man has fallen.

“They have come for you,” Loki repeats, sliding his free hand to the front of Thor's torso, feeling the abdominal muscles one by one and climbing higher, to his chest. He finds a hard nipple there and _twists_. “But never forget that you are _mine_.”

He feels Thor's answering grunt in his own chest, pressed so tightly against him. “Yes,” he murmurs softly, brushing his lips down Thor's jawline until he finds the meaty junction of his neck and shoulder, and bites hard. “Mine.”

Thor's entire body tenses, and Loki licks over the marks his teeth have left, relishing the salty taste. He sucks a wet kiss there, on the same spot, and twists the nipple again, this time harder. “Remember that when you fight.”

The crowd roars again, and a horn sounds, signalling the end of the fight.

“It will be your turn soon,” Loki tells Thor. He drops his hand lower, lower, until he finds the considerable bulge below Thor's waistband. He cups his palm over it, rubbing it through the leather breeches. Thor releases a curt groan, but grits his teeth together and breathes heavily through his nose.

“You will go up there,” Loki drawls into his ear, tightening his grip on his gladiator's cock, “and you will win.”

Thor's muscles jump against Loki's chest when Loki squeezes his cock with sudden harshness. “Fight for me, Thor,” Loki whispers against his ear, a little breathless himself from the anticipation – it is not only Thor who likes the exquisite torment. “Fight for me, and you will have me.”

A metal door clangs somewhere at the other end of the corridor, and Loki tears himself from Thor's frame. He brushes a hand over his clothing and walks to the entrance of the cell, where he finally turns around and offers Thor a smile. “Don't die.”

The dark look he receives in response sends shivers up his entire body.

 

 

 

When the fights end, Thor is the last man standing in the bloody sand of the arena. The crowd cheers madly for him, but he doesn't look at them, doesn't even seem to hear them. His steady gaze is trained on Loki alone.

 

 

 

Thor has been chained in the same way as he was before the fight when Loki returns to the cell. He stands tall and proud, despite some of the blood on his chest being his own. He is completely still, motionless, eyes dark and heavy as Loki lets himself in; he knows what comes next, and waits for it with patience Loki was initially surprised to discover in a northern barbarian.

Loki doesn't speak, this time, and doesn't take his eyes off Thor's as he approaches him. His own body is resonating with the restlessness of his gladiator's, thrumming with delicious fear and anticipation both.

Loki stops only when he stands a few breaths away from from Thor. Their chests are nearly brushing, their breaths mingling. Loki's cock stands painfully hard after spending hours watching Thor obliterate his opponents, and when his hips jerk forward half unconsciously, he is met with equal need.

Loki brings his hands to Thor's blood-splattered chest and slowly drags his fingers higher, higher, up along Thor's chained arms, until he finds the lock on Thor's wrists. He tilts his face forward, just slightly, just enough to brush his lips against Thor's, and breathes, “You may collect your reward now.”

The lock clicks open, and in an instant Loki finds himself on his back, a large palm tightening around his neck, his gasp cut off by a thumb pressing into his vulnerable throat.

“My turn, little Roman,” Thor growls into his face, and Loki's whole body convulses under the weight of Thor's hunger. “Now _you_ are _mine_.”

Loki knows that one day Thor might die on the arena, or that there might come a time when Thor grabs Loki's throat too tightly and for too long as he forces Loki underneath him. But it's the thrill of it – the never knowing for certain – that excites and exhilarates Loki.

For Loki loves power… but he loves even more being stripped of it.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word by Anon.


	8. Pegasus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Thor: Ragnarok, reminiscing, finding closure.

 

 

The sun has started its descend behind the uneven line of mountains, painting the sky above in vibrant hues of red and yellow. Against that colourful light the mountains look like dark giants standing knee-deep in the green forest below – a line of them, all following some long-lost trail, frozen in time.

Thor gazes at the scenery from the mountain ledge he’s sitting on. He lets his eyes wander onto the valley below, to the deep green forests spreading between the two separate mountain ranges, to the sun unhurriedly creeping lower, lower still, until once again it will leave the Vanir world in darkness for a night. There is nothing sad about it, Thor thinks. The sun needs its rest, too. It will shine again, come morning.

So he lets the sun go, escorting it with his eyes, keeping it company on its journey. There’s no one else.

It has been a year now since he bid goodbyes to his friends on Midgard. A year and a half since his life changed irreversibly: the first attack on the heart of Asgard in his entire lifetime; the death of his mother; the death of Loki.

So much pain and anger. So much time spent in a blur, darkness clinging to his heart and filling his head. So many months of wading through that endless, heavy fog.

A light breeze caresses Thor’s cheeks, playfully tugs at his hair. The sun flares with golden fire and he can feel its lingering warmth touch his face, kiss his forehead like his mother always used to. Thor draws a deep breath; the air fills his lungs easily, his chest no longer feels as though it were crushing into itself. The darkness that for so long carried him has finally faded.

For the first time in nearly two years, Thor can think of home.

“This could almost be a view from mother’s balcony,” someone says left to Thor, “If you pretended those woods were orchards.”

Thor turns his head. Loki stands beside him, eyes cast towards the sundown, arms hanging at his sides, the long flaps of his outdoor wear dancing in the breeze.

“Yes,” Thor replies, and turns back to the scenery. “It could.”

It doesn’t even take much imagination. This is Vanaheim, but the mountains resemble those visible from their mother’s quarters. Her balcony had the best view of sunset in all of Asgard. Thor and Loki used to spend there countless evenings when they were little – for a long time, it had been Loki’s favourite spot to play. Thor always assumed it was because of their mother’s safe proximity, but later he came to realise that ever since Loki learnt to play, he had instantly developed a flare for the dramatic and liked to bring the natural elements into their games. Loki always was like that, wasn’t he? Never one to settle for mere imagination, always quick to cleverly include their surroundings in their play. Come to think of it, those were probably the first signs he showed of his inclination to illusory magic.

A wave of nostalgia grazes Thor’s heart, and he smiles into the sun. “Some of my best evenings were spent on that balcony.”

Loki laughs softly. “Naturally. It was the only place you allowed yourself to play Valkyries.” He settles down beside Thor, elegantly lowering his feet over the ledge, like Thor.

Thor can’t help a slightly caught-out laugh. Ever since he discovered the reason why he would never become a Valkyrie, he had been too embarrassed to play them where real warriors or other children might see him. But Frigga never judged, and Loki, Loki was always at Thor’s heels and eager for anything fun. His little brother never had bothered binding himself with boring facts when a good story or a game presented itself, and he had quickly become Thor’s top secret confidant.

“Many a glorious battle was fought on that balcony,” Thor says with a little grin, letting the memories unravel before his eyes. “We even had a winged horse, like the Valkyries’ noble beasts, do you remember?”

Loki, still learning his first steps with magic, had cast an illusion over one of their mother’s elegant benches to resemble a proper winged beast. He hadn’t yet acquired the skill he would later, and objectively speaking their noble mount probably was more a caricature than an impressive illusion, but to Thor it was perfect. He and Loki had climbed atop it together, Loki behind Thor, his little arms circling Thor’s middle as they pretended to ride into battles together, brothers side by side as they only should.

Loki chuckles at the memory beside Thor, unguarded in a way Thor hasn’t seen him after his failed coronation, or possibly even before that. “Yes, I remember. How could I not, when we even held a glorious naming ceremony? I seem to recall we even invited mother for the occasion. Do you remember what we named it?”

Thor smirks. “Pegasus. At your insistence. And then you had to explain to mother how you had come up with that name. You knew she didn’t approve of you reading those old Midgardian tales of their ancient gods before you were old enough.”

“Yes.” Loki laughs. “They seemed quite a ridiculous lot at the time. All lechers and cheats and plotters, continuously warring against one another. I though it surreal that such pathetically human creatures called themselves gods.” His smile turns a little crooked, wistful. “Who would have thought.”

“Yes,” Thor repeats, slowly. “Who would have thought.”

They fall into silence, simply sitting there, brothers side by side as they only should, as they were meant to, as they always had before something darker and deeper than the Void tore them apart. And yet, on that horrible bleak day on Svartalfheim, they stood together once more.

“It always brought us back, though.”

Thor turns to Loki; Loki looks into the last rays of the setting sun. He is beautiful, as he always was, Thor’s brother. There isn’t a trace of bitterness on his face now, only slightly wistful thoughtfulness. Thor knows it is so only because that’s what he wants to see, but at the same time he believes, wants to believe, that Loki, too, has found his way out of a thick dark mist of his own. He must have, in some way. Thor feels it, feels it in this imaginary Loki, his brother, his deepest love. Loki must have got out of his darkness for Thor to sense his calm presence now.

Loki turns to meet his gaze. “Pegasus. After every battle we rode to, it always brought us back home with wind in our hair and the setting sun behind our backs.”

A strand of Loki’s hair falls into his face, but Thor knows better than to try brushing it away. Instead he looks back at the last persistent rays of light.

Their mother had always been waiting for them, laughter in her eyes as she welcomed her battle-worn little warriors back home, ready to hear each and every detail of their adventures, always sparing a grateful word for their faithful mount for bringing her boys back safely.

Beside him, Loki says softly, “Perhaps it will bring you home once more.”

Thor looks to his left. The ledge beside him is empty.

He turns back to the scenery before him, catching the last ray of sun before it disappears behind the mountains. The night is coming.

“Yes,” he murmurs – to himself, to Loki – and lets darkness envelop him in its folds. “Perhaps it might. And when it does, the sun will shine on us again, brother.”

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word by Anon. :)
> 
> It wasn't intentional, but now that I think about it, the chapters Milk, Moustache, Mosquito, Hope, and Pegasus might very well be different parts of the same timeline. At least I, having now posted this, like to think so. In which case the chronological chapter order would be Moustache, Mosquito, Milk, Hope, and Pegasus.
> 
> Anyway, this is it, we're done with this thing. :) I hope you enjoyed!


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